“Ansouisienne.”
I’d heard of it. It was along the river, only a day or two’s ride from the capitol. “Baudouin is that close?”
Why weren’t more people in the palace concerned by this? Everyone was carrying on as if the fighting was nothing but a little annoyance that would soon peter out.
Amandine nodded, her face lined with sorrow. “He’s been blazing a trail down from his duchy, recruiting soldiers to fight in his name. Those who do keep heading south. Those who don’t…” She sucked in a breath, implying the worst, then waved her hand about the room. “This used to be one of our reflection vestibules. We’ve converted it into sleeping chambers for the littlest ones. Most of them are at services now, but come tonight, this will house dozens of children.”
“Dozens.” I looked around the room, wondering how they’d allfit.
Amandine nodded. “The Rift isn’t the largest temple in Châtellerault, but we’re doing our part. I’ve heard the Ivory Temple has over three hundred orphans now.” She pursed her lips, her expression clouded. “The Holy First commands ever so many more offerings than the Divided Ones.”
I wondered how often Margaux returned to the Ivory Temple, if she’d seen the number of children housed there. If she had, wouldn’t she have said something to the king?
Even though the room was empty, the priestess dropped her voice, whispering to me. “I overheard that you’re at court to take care of the king.” I nodded, leaning in to make out her conspiratorial tones. “Not everyone knows, of course. But High Priest Théophane was asked to perform a special ceremony for the king, in private, to beseech Félicité’s favor. We’ve heard…” She looked guiltily to the hall. “Théophane was told it’s the Shivers.”
I froze, unsure of what to say but certain I shouldn’t reveal the extent of King Marnaigne’s illness.
Amandine nodded, my silence evidently confirming her fears. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve spent my time here praying for your successful treatment of His Majesty. He must heal, and heal quickly. The armies need to see their monarch strong and ready to fight with them. Only he can rally them to victory. Only he can stop this war.”
I pushed aside memories of the grinning deathshead. It was hard to meet her open, fervent gaze. “I will certainly try my best.”
Amandine grabbed my hands, encircling them with her warmth. “You must, Mademoiselle Trépas.” Her smile deepened with embarrassed chagrin. “I don’t mean to put pressure on you—I know you need rest and care yourself, but every hour the king is away, every day that he hides from his public, from his supporters, more are lost. If Baudouin should take the throne…” Tears grew in her eyes.“…it would be catastrophic. The country would be ruined, tens of thousands of lives lost. Maybe hundreds. Oh, Mademoiselle Trépas, we are putting every faith in you. I know Félicité will guide your hands.”
I swallowed, unable to answer. The hopeful spark in her eyes pierced my heart.
There would be no saving the king. Not with the deathshead upon his face.
Leopold’s voice echoed in my memory, asking how he’d look in the crown.
I shuddered.
The orphaned girls returned then, carrying a tray. Again I was struck by the uncanny sense that I knew them all from somewhere.
“Amandine has said that you are from Ansouisienne?” I asked, trying to make friendly conversation as the oldest busied herself at a side table, pouring the water and sprinkling herbs across it.
“We were,” she said flatly. “Ansouisienne is no more.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, my eyes darting toward Amandine in apology. “Could I ask you girls for a favor?”
The middle girl, no older than seven, nodded before glancing at the high priestess for permission.
“I’m going to have to go back to the palace soon,” I said, carefully pushing myself up from the mattress. “Do you think you could help me find my clothes?”
The youngest jumped into action. “I know where they are! I put them in the cupboard!” she exclaimed, happy to have a task.
“Not so loud, Hazel, please,” Amandine reprimanded.
“I’m sorry,” the little girl and I said in unison before I realized the priestess had not been talking to me.
I looked over at the little girl with fresh interest. “Is your name Hazel?” She nodded. “How funny! So is mine!”
She gasped before hurrying back, nearly tripping over my dress and petticoats.
“The gods must be at work here,” Amandine mused. “Such coincidence.”
“Mama named me after her sister,” the little girl said proudly.
“Our aunt,” the middle girl added.
